Finally, Forever (23 page)

“You can do better,” I say.

“Yeah. I never believed in the whole stupid soul mate thing. What a load of bullshit. But, when I saw you and Dylan together, I started to believe in it. I want to hold out for something like that. Is that a cheesy thing to say?”

“No,” I say
, because she’s right.

I say goodbye to Lenny and slip the phone in my pocket.

I stretch out over a row of chairs and stare up at the ceiling tiles, speckled in flecks of gray and black. I wish Amanda were here. I still need her sometimes. I breathe out her name. Amanda, what do I do now? Can you help me out here? Give me a sign?

I close my eyes and there is something strangely comforting about all the commotion around me. I fade off to sleep.

Dylan

The sun is starting to set and I know Gray wants to get on the road. He isn’t answering his phone and I can’t find him anywhere. Finally, on the first floor by the gift shop, I see him asleep on a row of chairs. I sit down on the edge of one of the seats and lean my back against his hip. I rest my hand on his shoulder. I feel him shift and wake up.

“People are heading out,” I say.

He moans in response and swings his arm over his face to block out the bright overhead fluorescent lights. 

“Do you want to go back to the hotel and sleep?
” I offer. “Or you can stay at Mike’s aunt’s house?”

I know there’s an edge to my voice, a plea, because I don’t want him to leave
yet. My family never understands me and he does and I want him here. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I will never be ready to say goodbye.

Gray
sits up and rubs his eyes. “I need to get home,” he says. “I have to be back at school in a week, and I promised my parents I’d hang out for a few days.”

I nod slowly.

“You took a pretty long detour,” I say.

“It’s been interesting. Mike’s a good guy,
Dylan. He’s going to be really good for your sister.”

“Can we
take a walk before you leave?” I ask and Gray nods and grabs my hand. We stand up and walk through the automatic doors and we’re welcomed with fresh air. We turn and head toward the beach.

Gray
’s phone rings and he looks down at the screen and hesitates. He tells me he needs to take it. “It’s my agent,” he says. “The greediest man I’ve ever met.”

He stops at the corner and sits down on the sidewalk
bench and I keep walking down the block to give him space. I listen to the sounds of the city, to the traffic, the tires, the impatient brake and acceleration of cars like a conversation that suddenly cuts off and continues again. I watch people on the sidewalk in front of me and see a hurried frenzy, a nervous gesture, an awkward tick. But then I look at the ocean and I relax. If I’m going to live in LA, I need to be close to the ocean. It keeps you humble. She’s like a big sister, offering advice, reminding me to slow down and focus on what’s important.

Gray
catches up with me a couple minutes later, just as our shoes hit the sand. My hair blows into my eyes and I pull it back into a short stump of a ponytail. We kick off our shoes and sit down, facing the setting sun, an orange apricot hanging low in the sky.

I look
over at Gray. “You have a crease right here,” I tell him. I point my finger between his eyebrows. “It’s your ‘I have serious thoughts in my head,’ crease.”

He smiles because it’s true.

“What’s your plan, Dylan?” he asks me.

I look back out at the water and suddenly the sunset is no longer beautiful. The water looks cold. It looks like a cinematic backdrop to accompany a sad ending.

“I’m going to stay in the hospital with Serena for the next few nights. She doesn’t want to be alone and she said she’s already getting sick of Mike’s lactation references. He claims he wants to bottle breast milk and sell it as a coffee creamer. You can imagine the advertising tag lines he’s coming up with.”

Gray
’s quiet for a few seconds. He’s not in a joking mood. The waves are small in the light wind, barely a ripple. They have lost their edge, or maybe they’re just exhausted from their long journey.

“That doesn’t answer my question,”
Gray says. He turns my shoulders so we’re facing each other. “What’s your plan, Dylan?” he repeats.

I want to say that I’m going with him to Phoenix, and back to Albuquerque and everywhere else life takes him. But that’s his path and, as usual, it splits away from mine.

“I’m moving here,” I say. “My sister asked me to stay and help her with Luke and I promised I would. It’s where I need to be right now.”

I’m expecting his eyes to fall, but he looks surprised. “You want to live in LA?”
Gray asks me and I nod without hesitating.

“Ever since she asked me, it felt right. Usually when I commit to a place, I get this awful sinking feeling. I actually feel depressed. But this time it didn’t happen. I want to be here.” I look
hopefully at Gray. “It’s sort of close to New Mexico,” I hint. 

Gray
shakes his head. “I’m not living in New Mexico anymore,” he says.

This time I feel a crease in my forehead. “But you said you’re going back there?”

He nods. “I have to meet with some coaches and move my stuff out, but then I’m moving here.”

I look at the ocean and back at him. “To LA?” I ask.
Is he joking? “I thought you were playing baseball?”

Gray
smiles. “We just got the offer we wanted from the Dodgers,” he says. “We’re accepting it. I’m signing.”

I nod slowly. The name sounds familiar, and I try to envision the mascot. What is a dodger? A type of badger? A cousin of a beaver?

“The San Francisco Dodgers?” I guess and the sky immediately lightens with the idea that we could make this work. “We would be in the same state?”

Gray
rolls his eyes. “I don’t care what you say, I’m officially giving you an intro to baseball class,” he says. “The Los Angeles Dodgers,” he clarifies. “The stadium’s right downtown.”

“Wait,” I say. “We’re both moving to LA?”

He hesitates to answer me as if he’ll jinx this entire moment. He nods once. “Yes?”

Goosebumps rise up on my arms. Gray leans forward and rests his forehead against mine.
I lace my fingers through his, first his right hand and then his left. It sends a jolt of energy all the way through my arms, to my chest, and I wonder if our fingertips are really just extensions of our hearts. Our fingers are where every connection begins and ends. I’m afraid to speak, afraid to blink, as if this all might disappear. I hold on tight to Gray’s hands.

“I don’t want to be away from you. Ever,” he tells me. He leans back and his eyes are inches away from mine. “I’m not letting you go this time, Dylan. You are my most basic need.”

“Gray—”

“Listen, I have a theory. Want to hear it?”

I nod. I love his theories.

“Life is really simple. We’re just thrown so many distractions that we forget how simple it is. But people have the most basic needs,” he says. “And deep down, I think we all get it. We know what’s
most important. We know what we’re searching for.”

I nod.

“The challenge is, if you’re lucky enough to make an amazing discovery, you need to be smart enough to hold onto it. If you let it fall through your fingers, it makes the whole search a waste.” He looks at me, really looks at me. “I’m not letting you fall through my fingers again,” he says. 

It’s so simple.
“That is your best theory, yet,” I say.

~ Two Weeks Later ~

Dylan

“What? Is? That?” I ask and stare at a sparkly pink garment draped over my sister’s arm. She hands it to me and I examine the tight, glittery fabric.

“Your bridesmaid dress,”
Serena says.

My mom glances up from the couch, where she’s reading a magazine. My Grandma is sitting next to her, knitting a sweater for Luke.
My dad and Pop are watching golf on the TV. My aunt and cousins are sitting on the floor, making flower wrist corsages. My aunt Diane-Dan and her partner are here; they’re in the kitchen in charge of making the wedding cake.

My mom gives me a sympathetic look. “It
’s not very you,” she offers.

“Where did you get it?” I ask. “A store specializing in stripper costumes?” I joke. “
On the sales rack?” Our fashion tastes have never exactly converged. Serena grew up in tutus and high heels, and I grew up barefoot and in overalls.

“Sorry,
Dylan,” she mocks. “I couldn’t find any dresses made out of recycled jeans and patches.”

“How do you know it will fit me?” I ask. It’s my only exit door out of dress hell.

“It has a lot of spandex in it,” she tells me and pulls on the stretchy fabric to demonstrate. I start to back away, but she comes at me, her eyes stubborn. “Don’t you dare say no to me, Dylan. I’m very hormonal right now. I wish I could wear this but my current porn sized boobs would rip it apart.”

I look down at her giant chest, covered in a white terrycloth robe. Her dark hair is pulled off her face in hot rollers, held together by what looks like giant paperclips.

“I have a black dress,” I offer. I bought it four years ago and it still fits. It’s the only dress I own. “Can’t I just wear that?”

“You want to wear black to my
wedding
?” she says.

“Well
, it’s not like you’re a virgin bride,” I say and point to Luke, sleeping like an angel in a bassinette in the living room.

Mike
walks out of the kitchen with a beer in his hand. Serena allowed him creative liberty over the frosting design on the cake, which was a dangerous choice.

“Did somebody say porn?” he asks.
“Hey, I’ve decided on a theme for the cake. I’m going with an outer space motif,” he says and Serena drops her argument with me long enough to stare at him.

“I’m thinking of the words, ‘May the Force of
Marriage be With You,’ and I envision two lightsabers crisscrossing in the center and joining in an epic explosion of the Death Star which will be shaped like a heart.”

“That’s really creative,” I tell him.

“Mike,” Serena groans, “I said absolutely no Star Wars references.”

“Can I still do outer space? Maybe have all the planets aligned and then we’re joined together by the force of the cosmos?”

“Just draw me up a design first,” Serena says. She turns back to me and I stare into the mass of pink sequins on the dress.

“I think can see myself reflected in it,” I say.

She ignores my observation.

“It’s a size
six,” she says, “the same size you wore to our cousin’s wedding last summer. Besides, you never gain weight. Brat.”

“I love you Serena, but I am
not putting that on.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I would rather wear duct tape from head to foot. Well, as long as there’s a butt flap.”

“Just try it on. If it doesn’t fit, you don’t have to wear it. I promise.
” She hands me the dress. “Never say no to a bride on her wedding day,” she states, as if it’s a law enforced in the state of California.

I re
lent and go into the bathroom. I pull on the bright, scratchy material. It actually isn’t that tight. I turn in front of the full length mirror. It fits perfectly. Damn.

Serena walks in and nods with satisfaction.
She confirms what I already fear.

“It fits.”

“It’s pink,” I say.

“Its
crimson rose. A very dark shade of pink. It’s gorgeous.”

I turn around in front of the mirror. At least it isn’t too short. It falls to my knees so I look like a high-end call girl, versus you’re everyday street hooker. I’m okay with it, until I walk out of the bathroom and see the shoes Serena picked out.

“Stilts?” I say.

“They’re high heels,” she says.

“They look like stilts. How am I going to wear these on the beach?”

“They elongate your legs,
Dylan. It’s flattering.”

She throws them at me and I put them on. They’re pink, too.

She directs me back into the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror.